


Bones Illuminate

by CheekyDoodles



Series: The DUNGEON [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Attraction, Coffee Shops, Coffee date, First Dates, Gen, M/M, POV Alternating, Strippers & Strip Clubs, awkward arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-02-28 13:58:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13272909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheekyDoodles/pseuds/CheekyDoodles
Summary: After Arthur's birthday celebration at The DUNGEON (where he experienced a life-changing lap dance from Merlin, masquerading as the dancer Black Magic), Arthur finally works up the nerve to call this Merlin fellow, and ask him out for coffee. On the other side of the moon, Merlin is surprised to get a call from one, very handsome, blonde birthday boy.





	Bones Illuminate

**Author's Note:**

> wow it has literally been 2 years since I even opened this fic. i wonder if anyone still cares, oops! i still love this, and aspire to take up aerial fitness sometime in the new year. anyway, please enjoy! i figured these two needed a coffee date, because what else should they do? also, claps for my beta, courageousdoe.tumblr.com. ily friend.

Hunkered down in the middle of his large bed, puffy blankets surrounding himself like boulders hugging a cliff by the sea, Arthur continues to stare at his phone. The little, gray and faceless person on the thumbnail of the contact his finger hovers over leers back at him, disapproving of his cowardice. He turns his phone over. 

It's been a solid week since Arthur exited the purple neon haze of  _ The DUNGEON _ , added  _ Black Magic _ 's number into his phone and left it to marinate amongst his other contacts. Waiting a week is pushing it, Arthur is sure. A week is enough time for dizzying memories to blur, for what was at first the sharp edge of cataclysmic touches to be dulled. To be forgotten. Or worse, never remembered to be forgotten in the first place.

But not for Arthur.

His blood buzzes still when he remembers his dancer's pearly skin, making staking claim over his own. His eyes seek out every mop of dark hair bobbing through the city. He knows it's crazy but the man-- Merlin is his name-- plagues his dreams. Summoned like a shadow under the natural tilt of the sun; his likeness always ethereal and out of reach. 

Whether the fact that Arthur knows the dancer's name helps the madness or hinders it, he's not too sure. Withdrawn to the solitary of his flat, he's tasted the name on his tongue, nobody to share its pittance but him and his white walls.

Arthur should probably call.

But now his phone is ringing  _ for _ him, pealing out an electronic samba that makes him lurch and disrupt his shelter. He has to stare at the awaiting caller's name and picture of an orangutan wearing sunglasses for several seconds to ground himself.

"Hey," Arthur answers.

"What's up?" Leon asks, his usual relaxed tone outright mocking Arthur's anxiety. 

Arthur glances around the perpetual mess that is his loft: uni books and papers piled up in sloping hills on his desk, discarded clothes that might be clean or dirty strewn like dead birds across the wood floor. An empty bag of crisps perched on the edge of his bed. If Leon were to see him now, acting like a fair-hearted oyster in the middle of his mess, he'd shake his head and knock Arthur over  _ his _ head with a small vacuum.

"Nothing," Arthur floats.

"Mhm. So... you called him yet?" Leon asks, being the only close friend Arthur has confided in about the incident. He puts as much stead in the others, but winces at the thought of  _ Gwaine  _ knowing about his boyhood crush. 

Arthur hides his face in his hand anyway. "No."

Leon switched into his chastising-with-care mode. "You should really give it a try, Arthur. If you're serious about your feelings then you don't want to lose the opportunity."

Arthur groans, dragging his hand up his face and through his hair. "I know, I will. Now what the hell did you call for?"

Leon huffs a quiet laugh, but leaves the subject alone. "The boys wanted to go out tonight, see that new action movie. That one with the motorcycle explosion Percy won’t stop talking about. You coming? Actually scratch that-- they're going to bust through your door around eight and drag you to the theater while I wait outside. So be ready."

"Sounds delightful," Arthur says, hanging up without a goodbye.

He stares at his phone again, thinking about Leon's advice and how he's always right, of course, when a burst of courage has his fingers flicking back to Merlin's contact and dialing.

On speaker, he listens to the nerve-spiking warbles. Two rings. Four. A full fifth ring passes and he very well almost ends the call. But there's an answer just as he's about to press the red button.

"Hullo?" A halfway breathless voice punctures the air of Arthur's loft and does something to the blood circulating his skull.

After a few beats of silence, enough for who is hopefully Merlin to repeat his salutation, Arthur fortunately remembers how to speak. Though not so deftly. "Uh, yes. Hi."  _ Hi _ ? He could hit himself. "Is this Merlin?" 

There's some fidgeting on the other line, as if Merlin is adjusting his phone. "Um, yes, who's this?"

"Arthur Pendragon. We uh, we met at your work last Friday." Then, less confidently Arthur adds, "I’m the birthday boy."

A scratchy silence bleeds over the line, followed by more fidgeting sounds and Arthur swallows the cotton ball in his throat. There's a weak clatter, as if something has fallen, and Arthur hears a muffled curse of sorts. Then, an ambiguous, 

"Oh."

Oh?  _ Oh _ ? What does 'oh' mean? Arthur swallows another cotton ball and yanks the hair of his widow's peak to get a grip. “Yes.”

Then Merlin utters an undoubtedly sheepish, "Hi."

“Hi.”

More silence passes, filled with a whirr Arthur can't place and soft gibberish of other people's conversations.

“So um, how are you?” Arthur ventures, and has to stop from smacking himself.

“Good, good I suppose, yeah. How about you?”

“I’m… fine.”

“Just fine?” 

Arthur scoffs. “Should I be anything else?”

There’s a grin in Merlin’s voice when he replies. “Nope.” 

Arthur smiles to himself. "So, Merlin. I was wondering if maybe you'd like to meet up somewhere. For coffee, maybe?"

A tremendous clatter on the other line makes Arthur flinch. "Dammit," Merlin says, voice faint.

"Merlin?"

"I'm here, sorry about that. Did you say coffee?"

"If you'd like. Of course we could always go somewhere else--"

"No no, that's alright. I'd like that. Do you... know the Rising Sun cafe?"

Arthur frowns, wracking his brain. "D'you mean the little hole in the wall next to the post office on Cenred?" Arthur usually passes the little cafe once or twice a week on his way to work, never giving it a second thought. He hardly orders coffee anywhere, he has his own single cup machine and an array of thermoses. 

"It's not a hole in the wall!" Merlin snorts with a laugh, almost indignant. “I’ll have you know their coffee is good enough to drink off the floor.”

"Sorry, I meant... quaint."

Merlin makes a dubious sound and Arthur asks if tomorrow at two o’clock is good for him.

"Works for me. I'll see you there, Arthur." Another inflection of a smile. 

Arthur's insides curl up, tingling like menthol. "See you."

He hangs up, and resumes staring at his phone. Then he laughs, flopping backward on his bed and coaxes his stomach to settle.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Merlin slips through the throngs of people like a minnow between schools of game fish. He's just finished with afternoon class and stopped by his favorite coffee shop for his evening boost. So with a hot styrofoam cup of hazelnut coffee in one hand, school bag patting his back with every step and his textbooks in the other hand, Merlin cuts his usual path through the orange-evening city streets.

Class was a travesty. Will had him so distracted he couldn't focus on Professor Aredian’s lecture. Which, left him with very few notes on the history of African civilization and a glassy glare from said professor. The funny thing is, Will isn't even in Merlin's history of civilization course. He'd finished his class and decided to hide under Merlin's desk. Merlin had shot Will a glare of his own and told him he'd see his arse at work.

Waiting for the crosswalk, Merlin sips his coffee carefully. His phone rings just as it's okay to cross the street. He fumbles with his belongings to cradle them in one arm to allow the other to dig his phone from what seems like the deepest back pocket ever. Once he has it, he doesn't recognize the number but it's a local one. It could be a professor, or a wrong number. So he answers, nearly tripping over the curb to avoid becoming a bug on the windshield of a Toyota.

“Hullo?” He gets no reply so he repeats himself.

Another few eerie seconds pass and Merlin considers hanging up when a man answers. “Uh, yes. Hi. Is this Merlin?”

Merlin struggles with his slowly slipping armload, nearly spilling his precious coffee. “Um, yes. Who's this?”

The stranger answers with a certain self-importance, giving Merlin the impression that he is speaking with an Important Person of sorts. Even as he rambles a bit. “Arthur Pendragon. We uh, we met at your work last Friday. I'm… The birthday boy.”

Merlin's walk halts, causing the woman behind him to bump into him. His texts slip from his arm and he hisses a curse as he crouches to get them. And all he can think to say during this moment is, “Oh.” Brilliant. 

“Yes.”

That boy, that gorgeous blonde with motorway shoulders, sloped like blue mountains... Arthur.  _ Arthur _ is just an invisible phone line away. 

Merlin's face grows hot. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Merlin steps onto the bus at the last second, miraculously finding an empty place to sit. The bus is off with a slight jolt and neither man has said anything.

“So um, how are you?” Arthur asks.

“Good, good I suppose, yeah. How about you?”

Arthur sounds about as socially constipated as Merlin feels. “I’m… fine.”

Merlin smiles into the receiver. “Just fine?” 

A quiet scoff. “Should I be anything else?”

Merlin’s smile breaks into a grin. “Nope.” 

“So, Merlin. I was wondering if maybe you'd like to meet up somewhere. For coffee, maybe?"

The bus jolts as it starts up again, sending Merlin's half-full coffee off the neighboring seat. He drops his phone in his haste to grab the cup, saving at least one of his two valuables. “Dammit.” That was probably a nice symphony on the other line. He snatches his phone from the coffee splattered ground and wipes it on his jeans. "I'm here, sorry about that. Did you say coffee?"

"If you'd like. Of course we could always go somewhere else--"

Merlin shakes his head as if the blonde can see him. "No no, that's alright. I'd like that.” Merlin eyes his now half empty coffee cup between his fingers. “Do you... know the Rising Sun cafe?"

"D'you mean the little hole in the wall next to the post office on Cenred?"

"It's not a hole in the wall! I’ll have you know their coffee is good enough to drink off the floor." Merlin laughs, in spite of almost having to do just that.

"Sorry, I meant… quaint."

Merlin makes a dubious sound. Before he can linger on the critique, Arthur asks if tomorrow at two is good for him.

Merlin grins like an idiot. Another passenger gives him a look but he doesn't care. "Works for me. I'll see you there, Arthur."

“See you."

Merlin ends the call and stares at the screen before setting his phone on his thigh gently. A little laugh bubbles out of his throat. In his head he repeats “tomorrow at two” as a sort of mantra until the bus meets his stop.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Arthur switches tables four times before catching a peeved glance from the clerk behind the counter. He shoots her an apologetic glance before settling into a table near the back of the smallish cafe.

He chooses table over booth, as booths have an intimate, almost claustrophobic feel about them. He’d say it’s for Merlin’s benefit, but the twist in his belly argues otherwise. And Arthur has to admit that this is not the “hole in the wall” he’d previously condemned it to be.

This table for two is swathed in a rare lace of sunlight from a circle window, curtained by spindly green vines growing from two colorful hanging pots. They must be regularly trimmed, or they'd touch the table. A few other patrons are scattered about the cafe furniture, supplying background noise. 

Arthur checks his phone again. 1:52. No, 1:53! He crams it in his pocket.

What will they talk about? Not the dancing, surely. Yet that's the only common territory Arthur is aware of. And he is curious about it. Like a crow poking about a dropped pendant. But he'll be damned to bring it up. That's not why he's interested in Merlin and he does not want to make a lewd impression. He's interested because he's... interesting. 

“Can I get you anything, sir?” The girl from behind the counter (her nametag says Freya) stands at a reasonable distance, holding a pen and pad close to her chest.

“I uh.” Arthur didn’t even glance at the menu board when he walked in. “An Americano is fine. With cream.”

“Coming right up.” Freya scribbles in her pad and turns on her heel.

Arthur watches Freya go and ignores the hole his phone is burning in his pocket. 

Freya’s apron bow slips behind the counter once more just as the doorbell tinkles, announcing a new entrance and Arthur’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. 

It’s Merlin. He looks so… strange. With the absence of makeup, glitter and golden briefs, he’s surprisingly… Normal. Yes, that is the word. Of course he is. He's human, after all. Even so, he’s just as… Well what would you call it? Not exactly handsome. To Arthur, handsome speaks of suit models and black-bottle cologne. Merlin belongs to some globe of high-fashion altogether foreign to Arthur, where edgy models pull off vests made of trash bags and broken glass. 

Arthur watches Merlin from his peripheral. He spots Freya and his face lights up with familiarity before giving her a wave. They speak at the counter, in a consorting way of close faces and almost-touching elbows. Freya gestures to Arthur and he stiffens, now preferring to watch the pattern of the tabletop. 

Great. She's probably filling him in on his multiple table changes, awkward gestures and general air of shadiness. Off to a great start. 

Arthur peeks at the counter again. 

Merlin is accepting two cups and making his way over. Some functioning part of Arthur’s brain propels him up from the table, pulling out the opposite chair. Merlin meets his eyes now and Arthur tries to smile, not bare his teeth like a chimpanzee. 

Wow.

Merlin’s eyes catch the light like crystals. He smiles back and it sprinkles sugar in Arthur's mouth. How he carries all of that sexual prowess and gorgeous legs in those ratty jeans, Arthur isn’t to know. Even his walk is woven with a careless grace…

It's inside this thought that Merlin steps on his shoelace, and his grace unravels with it. The dancer stumbles forward and their coffee cups fall to the ground, sloshing over Arthur’s favorite white sneakers.

Every eye in the place must be on them. No one seems to move for days. Then Merlin turns his very pink face up.  

“Oh god I’m so sorry!” He yanks every brown napkin from the holder on another person’s table and scrambled up the mess.

Normally, Arthur would be upset. Angry, even. His toes are soggy and coffee is definitely infamous for stains. Truly, he would’ve inwardly blown a fuse. But he doesn’t. Instead, his entire body relaxes.

Arthur picks up the cups, which are both plastic. So at least there isn’t a big,  _ dangerous  _ mess. Then grabs another handful of napkins and crouches down beside Merlin.

“You know, when you said the coffee was good enough to drink off the floor, I didn't realize you meant we would,” Arthur says, wiping up a river of it.

Merlin laughs. “No I didn’t.”

“Well, I’m relieved.”

By the time Freya makes it with a mop, the spill is contained. She immediately raises her eyebrows at Merlin.

“I tripped,” Merlin cringes.

“Again? You need to be more careful!” Freya turns to Arthur and says, “I’ll get you another Americano, okay? No trouble.”

Arthur thanks her and she smiles.

“I’m real sorry about your shoes. I’ll replace them, I swear.” Merlin promises as Freya leaves again with their cups.

They are sat at the table now, Merlin having finally accepted the chair Arthur pulled out for him. Merlin’s hands clutch the edge of the table in earnest. His nose flares. He’s taken off his coat and hung it on the back of his chair, so Arthur can see his arms. Slim and white, pure muscle.

Arthur brushes it off, pushing at the air. “Don’t worry about it. Really. The smell is nice. I needed to wash them anyway.”

“The smell won't be in a day or two. Trust me.”

“Just how much coffee have you spilled on yourself,  Merlin?” Arthur grins. 

Merlin relaxes somewhat. “Don't worry about it.”

“I think I’m more worried about your balance. You can't dance very well with messy footwork.” Arthur's throat turns to stone as he says the coarse words, as innocent as they are meant. Out of bounds, out of bounds, his head screeches. 

Arthur opens his mouth as if he can suck the words back in when Merlin laughs.

“You sound like the rest of the guys at work.”

Arthur breathes through his stone throat. The territory has white flags risen. But he doesn't part the tall grass just yet. 

“Gaius, my boss, is the worst though. ‘How can you manage to be so clumsy? One of these days you’re going to break your neck!’” Merlin imitates a rusty old voice, supposedly his boss’.

Freya returns with two fresh cups of coffee, and two muffins. “Here you are, take two, on Merlin.”

“Thank you Freya,” Merlin narrows his eyes at his friend’s retreating back.

“He doesn’t sound too fun,” Arthur agrees into his hot coffee, picking up their conversation. This coffee  _ is _ good. 

Merlin sighs. He picks up his muffin and peels the paper away. “He means well. Truly does. He cares about all of us, makes sure we’re fit or doing well at home or in school… He’s like a grandfather really. Which is strange, when you think about it.”

“That’s good,” is all Arthur can think to say that doesn’t involve unloading the dozens of questions brimming in his head.

They sit quietly for a moment, Merlin picking at his food and Arthur tries to keep his eyes polite.

“So, what do you do for work?” Merlin spears the silence.

“Right now, I work for my father. I’m training to be a central integration facilitator.”

“Oh. That sounds neat,” Merlin nods, extremely polite.

Arthur laughs. “You can say it’s boring. Because it is. Very boring.”

“Oh, good because I have no clue what that means. So, why do you work there?”

“It’s my father’s business. He would like me to succeed him one day, I’m sure. But I have other plans.”

Merlin’s chin is cradled in his palm, eyes rapt like a bird’s. “Like?”

Arthur sips his drink to avoid choking on a bite of muffin. “I um. I would like to become a social worker. Help kids create better futures.”

“You like to help people,” Merlin states, expression glowing.

“I do.”

Merlin smiles and it rivals the setting sun. “That’s really great. Much better than central interval fraction something something.”

“I think so.”

They end up talking for almost three hours, leaving little silence as they delve into each other’s lives in tandem. Merlin is clever, and brash. Not so brash that he’s horribly obnoxious, but enough to never let Arthur grow bored. Merlin is going to school to become a Historian, of all things. As it turns out, they attend the same University, a realization which takes them both by surprise, Merlin choking on his food. Carleon is a huge campus, afterall, and Merlin usually attends days while Arthur attends nights.

Their conversation cuts down the middle when Merlin checks his phone.

“Shit! I’ve got class in ten,” he says, hand flying to his forehead. He slouches back in his seat and Arthur does the same, realizing just how close they have drifted together. 

“You should wear a watch,” Arthur cracks although his heart falls to his stomach. 

Then, Merlin leans back into their space in earnest, his eyes softening. “Maybe I’ll just skip. American History is trash anyways...” 

Arthur’s heart flutters in his stomach. He leans in close, mirroring his date. It must look like they are about to kiss, so close that Arthur watches Merlin’s pupils grow. “I think you should go to class, you cabbage-head.” Arthur says.

Merlin pouts, then laughs. “Okay, okay. Cabbage head? That's new.”

They pass Freya on their way out, who very visibly mouths, “TEXT ME” to Merlin, who averts his eyes. Just outside the door, Arthur shoves his hands in his pockets, not sure how to say bye or ask for another date.

Merlin saves him. “Arthur?”

“Yes?”

“If, if you want, I mean it’s kind of silly-sounding but if you want, you can come to the gym with me sometime?”

“The… gym?”

“Where I practice.”

“Oh.” Ohhh… Where he practices… his dancing… “I would love to.”

Merlin grins before turning on his heel. He tosses a hand up as a goodbye wave. “Okay, great. I’ll text you later!”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Arthur calls. He watches Merlin slide his hands into his pockets and be on his way. Merlin trips slightly over the curb, and steadies himself without turning back. It drags a smile out from under Arthur’s stomach.

 

 

* * *

  
  


Merlin hustles down the pavement and checks his phone again. The bus had a malfunction on his way here, because of course it would, the evil thing. It’s about six minutes til two when he turns the corner on Cenred, scraping the ground with his sneakers. Ugh ugh ugh. If he can just swallow his heart back into place he’ll be fine. He steals a big breath before opening the door to his favorite little cafe, the doorbell flicking his eardrums.

Freya is at the counter, hands deep in some coffee contraption. Merlin waves before making a dash for the safety of the front counter, unable to look around yet. Actually seeing Arthur again in broad daylight without the safety of the sex-positive darkness of The DUNGEON or a silly cloak… woof. 

“Hey, you didn’t chicken out,” Freya smiles, pink cheeks squishing.

“I’m not a coward!” Merlin whispers, ducking his head.

Merlin’s childhood friend wipes her artist hands off to pretend-arrange the fruit bowl right beside him. “Hm. Well, he’s already here you know. At that table you like by the window.”

Merlin feels his eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yes. Hang on, I’ll tell you when he’s not looking over here. Okay… Okay now he’s not looking.”

Merlin chances a look. His heart pops into his mouth, heavy on his tongue.

There he is, Arthur. Having a name to go with a face, is too powerful sometimes. The involuntary adjectives that roll into Merlin’s head are “strong” and “golden”. Though that might just be the light pouring through the window, burning the edges of the man.

“Oh God,” Merlin breathes. “I can’t do this Frey. I’m gonna mess it up. Look at him! He looks like a damn Prince… I wore my worst holey pants.”

Freya sets two tall cups of coffee before him, pushing the warm mugs into his hands. “You can do it, you ninny. I’ll be here.”

“Gee thanks,” Merlin mutters. Leaving the counter is like pulling himself from a pool.

Merlin keeps his eyes on the two cups in his hands at first, then forces his eyes up to his date. Arthur is already out of his seat, pulling Merlin’s chair out for him. He smiles an easy smile, shaping his handsome face into some sort of modern-day masterpiece. His arms are fantastic. Even his white shirt is fantastic: sleeves rolled up to his elbows, unbuttoned past his collar bones..

A Prince is what he is, a damn Prince! Merlin’s head screams.

Something tugs at Merlin’s next step, causing him to jerk forward. Merlin watches in some kind of sick, slow-motion horror as hot coffee jumps forth from his useless hands. It explodes over Arthur's very white shoes.

Time surely must have stopped. How else could it be so quiet? All the blood in Merlin must be in his face, because the rest of him is chilled. He peeks at Arthur, who looks just as stunned as he feels.

“Oh god I’m so sorry!” Merlin grabs the first napkins he sees and prays they will be enough to soak up the spill. He doesn’t want Freya to have to break out the mop for the second time this month solely on his account. And what about Arthur? He’s probably furious. Merlin can’t look at him. He wouldn’t blame the guy for walking out on him right here. 

Those white (now tan) shoes stand beside him and Arthur is suddenly on his level, patting down a river of coffee with more brown napkins.

“You know, when you said the coffee was good enough to drink off the floor, I didn't realize you meant we would,” Arthur says, side-eyeing him. 

Oh, he’s gorgeous and chivalrous. Merlin can’t help it, he laughs in relief. “No I didn’t.”

“Well I’m relieved.”

The monster is contained by the time Freya is able to bring around a wet mop. She immediately eyes Merlin.

“I tripped,” Merlin pleads.

“Again? You need to be more careful!” What she mercifully doesn’t say is that this is the second time this month. Arthur doesn’t need to know that. She offers Arthur a refill on Merlin’s tab and he accepts it warmly.

They take their table again, Arthur actually still pulling out Merlin’s chair for him. That may be the first time anyone has ever done that for him. Butterflies have taken over his entire torso, threatening to pull him away. He holds the table and apologizes in earnest.

“I’m real sorry about your shoes. I’ll replace them, I swear.”

Arthur blinks, as if he’d not remembered what must be a squelchy nightmare. He brushes it off, pushing at the air. “Don’t worry about it. Really. The smell is nice. I needed to wash them anyway.”

Merlin wrinkles his nose. “It won’t be in a day or two.”

Arthur laughs, full and too short. “I think I’m more worried about your balance. You can't dance very well with messy footwork.” Arthur visibly catches himself. With frightened eyes he begins to backpedal. 

Merlin smooths him out with a chuckle. “You sound like the rest of the guys at work. Gaius, my boss, is the worst though. ‘How can you manage to be so clumsy? One of these days you’re going to break your neck!’” 

Freya returns with two fresh cups of coffee, and two muffins. “Here you are, on Merlin.”

“Thank you Freya,” Merlin gives her the stink eye. The muffins here, while delicious and as big as both of his fists put together, are over-priced. Not that he doesn’t want to buy one for Arthur, it’s just that Freya knows Merlin likes the chocolate ones the least… 

“He doesn’t sound too fun,” Arthur sips his hot drink, his hair delicately falling over his eyebrow. 

Merlin lets go of a breath. He peels the paper from his chocolate muffin as he speaks. “He means well. Truly does. He cares about all of us, makes sure we’re fit or doing well at home or in school… He’s like a grandfather really. Which is strange, when you think about it.”

“That’s good,” Arthur says politely and effectively turning onto the road of uncomfortable silence.

Merlin takes the wheel. “So, where do you work?” 

“Right now, I work for my father. I’m training to be a central integration facilitator.”

It’s Merlin’s turn to be polite. “Oh, that sounds neat.”

Arthur laughs big enough to show his slightly crooked teeth, for the corners of his eyes to foil.. “You can say it’s boring. Because it is. Very boring.”

“Oh, good because I have no clue what that means. Then why do you work there?”

Arthur shakes his head a bit, plaintive. “It’s my father’s business. He would like me to succeed him one day, I’m sure. But I have other plans.”

“Like?”

“I um. I would like to become a social worker. Help kids create better futures.”

The information caresses Merlin’s cheek. “You like to help people.”

Arthur’s smile is small, earnest. “I do.”

“That’s really great. Much better than central interval fraction something something.”

“I think so.”

Somehow or another, they fall into an easy conversation. Easy, because after the obstacle-course-first-fifteen-minutes of the date was over, Merlin didn’t have to search for the right words. Arthur is so seemingly confident and kind, even if seemingly a bit posh or self-important. Arthur wants to know all about his schooling, what it is to be a Historian. Arthur also attends Carleon, the knowledge of which makes Merlin almost inhale a bit of muffin. They make a promise to try and bump into each other if they can.

Noticing the change in the shadows thrown by the plant curtain of their window, Merlin checks his phone. “Shit! I’ve got class in ten!” Ugh. The worst.

“You should wear a watch,” Arthur says dryly, flicking his own watch-saddled wrist.

Merlin scoffs, resting his chin in his elbows again. “Maybe I’ll just skip. American History is trash anyways...” There's that,  and Merlin might not have finished the assigned reading for the week. But really, eighty-five boring essays defending a boring document written by three boring politicians was a lot to make a class read.

 

Arthur’s eyebrows twitch when he smirks. He leans in, close. Had they been this close before Merlin checked his phone, or is this even closer? His cool eyes look so warm in the settling light, almost a pale yellow. Gosh, his eyelashes are blonde... amazing. 

“I think you should go to class, you cabbage-head.” Arthur says.

“Okay, okay. Cabbage head? That's new,” Merlin can’t help but laugh at that, even if he would rather stay here until closing.

They leave Merlin’s (now even more) favorite spot, and head out. Freya, who is waiting on another customer, mouths, “TEXT ME” at Merlin as he waves. Oh geez, she’s going to think he’s such a ninny. He makes an OK sign at her before exiting the jingling door.

They stand right outside the door silently, reminding Merlin of the idle animations of video game characters. Merlin wants to shake himself. He can’t just say bye, that’s weird. He has to ask for another date, oh god. What if Arthur says no? Oh shit, how awkward.

Merlin bites the inside of his mouth. “Arthur?”

Arthur meets his eyes. “Yes?”

“If, if you want, I mean it’s kind of silly-sounding but if you want, you can come to the gym with me sometime?” Cringe.

Arthur tilts his head. “The… gym?”

“Where I practice.”

“Oh. I would love to.”

He would love to? That meant… wow. Merlin cannot stop the smile that tears up his face, so he turns away before he can make an even bigger dork of himself. “Okay, great. I’ll text you later!”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Arthur calls.

Merlin walks away, for some reason determined to not look back at Arthur. Wow, Arthur… Who wants a second date. There’s a spring in his step that he doesn’t notice until his foot catches the curb on the way down and he stumbles a bit. 

“Jesus Christ, do not look back now,” Merlin mutters to himself.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :) and follow me, at calamity-annie.tumblr.com


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